


Tongue Tied

by ToukoTai



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Winter Soldier AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-19 15:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2392562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToukoTai/pseuds/ToukoTai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maine had been adjusting as well as he could to life in the future, to Carolina, to the reds and the blues. And then Recovery One had come to town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hetawholockvengerstuck on tumblr made an excellent point about there being no maine & Washington winter soldier AU. And hell, I already did one major rvb avengers/winter soldier crossover, what’s another one?
> 
> The set-up: this basically takes rvb’s cast and sticks them into marvel time period earth. Project Freelancer takes place in modern times, with the aim of developing advanced armor and soldiers and AI. The Red’s and Blue’s are fifty years into the future when aliens come to fuck shit up and their job is to fuck the alien’s shit up right back. The armor developed by Project Freelancer back in the day has been improved and is standard military issue now. Though AI’s are not.
> 
> get it, got it, good. Let’s roll.

The last time Maine had seen him, he had horribly dyed blonde hair. It was a bright obnoxious yellow that didn’t fit him in the slightest. The result of falling asleep first in the common room one night. He’d been annoyed when he woke up.

"Oh come the fuck on! Why couldn’t you just draw dicks on my face like the last ten times?" York dodging the thrown bar of soap, laughing.

"That got boring! We wanted to try something different!"

His eyes are the same grey though. Maine would know those eyes anywhere. Because the last time he’d seen them was right before their owner had walked into surgery for implantation and never walked back out.

They were told that there had been a complication on the table and that Agent Washington had not pulled through. There were hints that things weren’t as they seemed, but Maine had been too wrapped up in his mourning, his guilt, to really notice. All he could hear, as the team fell apart around him, was the slightly nervous voice saying: I’ve got a bad feeling about tomorrow. Think I’m going to pull out. 

Washington would have, he’d have pulled out and let South go in his place, but Maine had shaken his head and Sigma played his voice, convinced Wash to go through with it. (It was all Maine’s fault.) Maine hadn’t had too long to dwell on those thoughts because not even a week later York and Tex’s return to Freelancer crashed the helicarrier into the arctic.

With Maine in it.

The crash killed the remaining crew, killed the Counselor, would have killed Maine. But Maine was wearing armor designed to withstand the vacuum of space complete with a military smart AI to run it and Maine wasn’t just your average soldier, he was the product of years of testing and training to create the strongest and best warrior. A super soldier.

So when the carrier hit the water, when the impact knocked him out, when the ice cold water rushed into the chamber, Sigma activated survival protocols. And Maine was kept safe and sound, in hibernation, as the water froze to ice around him. Only to be chipped out fifty years later by military personnel following the distress signal Sigma had never stopped sending and assigned to a rag tag group of soldiers tasked with protecting the earth from the invading aliens.

Maine didn’t even know. He just went where they pointed and did what they said. He didn’t have it in him any more to do otherwise. Sigma worried, in his own way, so did Carolina. She was old, and grey but still with her steel and spit fire temper. Stronger, in some ways then when he had known her. Certainly wiser, certainly more experienced. But just as determined to do good. She was the Director of the new and improved Project Freelancer. The same project that had dug him out of the arctic. But she was the only one left. The rest of the team was gone, dead. Some young, some old, some horribly, some peacefully. And he had missed it all.

The long freeze had saved him but in return had taken time. His time. Time that he had wanted, had needed, to mourn, to grieve, to move on properly and then to live. He missed his teammates, but how could he even start to deal with that with Washington hanging over his head? It may have been fifty years and a week in the past, but to him, it felt like Washington had walked into implantation just yesterday.

All of that was crashing down on him right now, making it hard to breathe, making it hard to even keep standing. Because the man in front of him was dead fifty years and a week ago.

Maine had been adjusting as well as he could to life in the future, to Carolina, to the reds and the blues. And then Recovery One had come to town. Maine had been told that Recovery One was a ghost, a phantom. Showing up where he was least expected or wanted. Making off with equipment, with people, with money.

"We don’t know who he works for, we can only guess." Carolina had said, age lines on her face more deep then ever. "But whatever they send him out to get, he gets. No exceptions."

"Oh hell yeah he does." Tucker had yanked up his shirt to show the shiny scar tissue of a plasma burn, right above his hip. "The bastard totally shot through me to get to his mark. That hardcore.” Maine had only growled, it didn’t really matter to him, Recovery One had never faced him before after all. Sigma was always more detailed orientated though.

"Do you know what he’s after this time, Director Carolina?" Carolina had sighed. It was not the kind of sigh Maine ever wanted to hear from her again. It was a tired sigh, a sigh weighed down with years of regrets and what if’s and Maine knew those feelings down to his bones.

"Not quite precisely. But. Measures have been taken, just in case I’m right." And she would say no more.

It turned out she was wrong. Whatever she thought Recovery One was after, he actually going for her. And Maine wasn’t about to lose the last link he had left. He came at Recovery One with nothing less then everything he had. It didn’t matter if he didn’t survive this, so long as Carolina did and Recovery One didn’t.

But Recovery One was just as good as he was. Seemed to know the moves he would make and Maine found, that he was falling into a rhythm with Recovery One. It was more like sparring back in Freelancer with a fellow teammate, then fighting for his life. It was familiar. It was comforting. It was infuriating. This outsider, this interloper, had no right to move so in sync with him. Not when almost everyone Maine had known was dead, not when he was trying to take away the last teammate Maine had left. That was unacceptable. Maine was going to break him, hurt him so bad he would never get back up. Kill him, if he could, if Carolina didn’t stop him.

And how bitterly ironic that thought was now.

Maine had managed to knock the helmet off the armored wraith during a close counters bout of hand to hand. And found himself staring at a face that didn’t look a day over that night fifty years ago. But with his natural brown hair and grey eyes that didn’t look at Maine as anything more then a target to take out.

Maine couldn’t move, Sigma flickered into being next to his helmet, just as surprised as Maine.

"Washington? Agent Washington?" It was Washington, couldn’t be anybody else, the confused head tilt was a Washington gesture completely and totally. But his words really did send Maine to his knees.

"Who the hell’s Washington?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that they had Wash back, they had to find someway to keep him out of Hargrove's hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that whole 'Bucky could have avoided so much trouble if he'd just cut his hair' post got me thinking. And I had this winter soldier AU thing going on sooooooooooooo. Purely self indulgent so don't expect too much.

“I have  _ high _ doubts this plan will work.” Washington said between gritted teeth.

“Oh please,” Donut didn’t so much as pause as he worked the tint brush through Wash’s hair. Trying to get as even a spread as possible with the bleach. “Everyone’s looking for a grimy hobo super assassin. No one will be looking for a fabulous blonde freelancer agent.” There was a pause. “You have wonderful roots by the way.”

Washington’s fingers tightened into what would be a literal bone breaking grip on anyone else. Maine bore it stoically. After decade upon decade of mind wiping and the disaster that had been Epsilon's implantation it was more then a little understandable that Wash would have  _ strong _ opinions on anyone doing anything involving his head.

But this was an essential part of the bring Washington back into the fold plan. A plan brilliant in its simplicity.

It only had two parts.

Part one had been catching Wash, which hadn’t been an easy feat. Yet they had managed it by dint of determination, single mindedness, Sigma and being stubborn to the point of idiocy. After a whirlwind game of mouse and six stupid cats that spanned half the country and the better part of a year, Recovery One had agreed to come back with them. (Agreed being the nicer way of saying ‘was knocked out by a surprise stun grenade that Donut of all people managed to hit him with from five blocks and numerous rooftops away and woke up long enough to give his resigned consent from the back of a nondescript van Director Carolina had managed to procure for them, before dropping back into the sleep of the concussed.’)

Now that they had him, they had to keep him. 

Which was where Part Two came in. Since there was a giant worldwide search for a war criminal going by the tag Recovery One, Grif had offered an absurdly simple solution.

“Just call him a different name.” Maine blinked, Recovery One’s eyebrow had twitched.

“What.” It wasn’t really phrased as a question, Maine got the impression that asking questions had been  _ programmed  _ out of One. Grif sighed, the heavy put upon sigh he always did when he deemed the universe throwing too much work his way.

“They’re looking for a highly trained, yet completely useless on his own, assassin, Recovery One. So don’t be One.” One didn’t blink, but the rigidity in his stance spoke of confusion bordering on frustration.

“No, that could work.” Simmons rubbed his chin, his other hand propped on his hip. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but, it  _ could _ work. Agent Washington’s tag is still MIA in the database.” Maine remembered that being the custom of Freelancer. Never killed, always  _ missing _ . “Soooo,” Simmons offered up one hand, as though he were holding a plate. “What if we just...found him again?”

“There is precedence for Freelancer agents returning from being listed MIA.” Sigma sounded curiously entertained by the proposal. “Ourselves not withstanding. I believe both Agents Texas and Florida have made returns.”

“I, can’t.” One broke in, voice sounding strangled and helpless, hands clenching and unclenching. “I can’t  _ be _ Washington again.” And Maine didn’t know what to do with that. As flimsy as this plan was, it was their best chance of keeping Washington.

“Oh hey, whoa.” Donut waved his hands. “No one’s saying you have to be who you were, you’re just...borrowing your name.”

“And your face.” Grif helpfully supplied.

“Besides, after all this time, who would expect you to be the same anyway?” Donut steamrolled on. One’s mouth snapped shut, eyes blinking furiously as he tried to absorb this new concept. Finally, he nodded.

“He’d have to change his appearance.” Sigma’s holoform pulled up several pictures of Freelancer era Wash, licks of flame darting from his eyes as he turned his attention to the ruse, now that the matter was essentially settled in his view. “I am assuming they are basing this hunt entirely on sight. A haircut and perhaps,” Sigma tilted his head toward Maine, a smile curling its way across his face. “A dye job is in order.”

“Ooh! Ooh!” Donut waved his hand in the air. “I got like a  _ lot _ of dyes! What color do you want? Red? Black? Orange? Purple?” One looked overwhelmed with the choices, he leaned back from Donut. Maine stifled a smile behind his hand, but One’s attention was drawn to the hand movement. He studied Maine for a moment, eyes intense and face blank.

“Blonde.” He said, never breaking eye contact with Maine.

“I can do blonde! We’ll look like brothers!” Donut cheered.

Maine was left wondering how much exactly One-no, _Washington_ , remembered.

 

At the end of the very stressful, and exciting couple of hours, Washington was left studying his reflection in the mirror. Donut was true to his word, the blonde coloring was so natural looking, it seemed like he’d always been blond. Wash squinted past the fragmented memory of bright sunshine yellow, sloppily applied and the flash feeling of fond irritation that came with it. He didn’t have any context for that memory or the feeling so he put it aside and dealt with what was in front of him.

Washington had been doing that a lot lately. Flashes and brief glimpses of past memories, hits and targets and missions he’d rather not think about. And he’s not  _ stupid _ , he knows that as a Freelancer Agent he signed up to do all kinds of covert operations. But nothing on the scale of what he had been used for. He certainly hadn’t signed up for five decades worth of wet work. Or to have his mind split open and scrubbed clean every time either.

That was over now, according to the new Project Freelancer. No one was going to make him do anything ever again.  _ That _ was according to Maine. Washington believed it when Sigma relayed Maine’s words. How could he not? With the way Maine  _ was _ , like an earthquake couldn’t move him, like a typhoon couldn’t drown him. Like he would personally slaughter anyone who even  _ looked  _ at Washington wrong.

Wash wasn’t sure what that kid he used to be had done to earn it, but Maine would walk through  _ fire _ for him.

And all that Maine wanted in return was for Washington to  _ stay _ . When put like that, against all the problems and trouble and danger Maine had put himself through just to get Washington this far, how could Wash not even  _ try? _

So he was going to go through with this absurdly simple plan and maybe, things would work out his way for once.

He didn’t have to be Recovery One and no one was expecting him to be Agent Washington either.

Maybe it was time to try out being just plain  _ Washington _ . See where that took him.

Washington smiled tentatively at himself in the mirror and then with a little more confidence when the world didn’t immediately fall apart.

Maybe he  _ could _ do this.

 

“This is never going to work.” Tucker groused, as he examined Wash, back in the common room. Wash ignored the prickling feeling of uneasiness as Tucker paced a loose circle around him. “All we did was cut his hair a little and dye it.  _ No one _ is going to fall for this.” On cue Caboose stumbled into the room.

“Hello everyone, I have news. The ice maker in the refrigerator may be broken, but the important point is, that it was not  _ anyone’s _ fault. Except Tucker’s.” Caboose nodded once, as though that settled it and was about to leave when he caught sight of Washington. “Oh. My. God. Tucker.” He grabbed Tucker’s arm. “There is a stranger here!” Caboose hissed. Tucker met Grif’s raised eyebrow expression.

“Caboose does  _ not _ count.”

 

“Agent Tucker. I’ve received some disturbing reports that say your squad is harboring a known, dangerous fugitive.” Carolina looked more amused then anything else, a black gloved hand turning the reports over on her desk. Next to Maine, Washington didn’t so much as stiffen his spine. Of course he’d gone into this conference call already as rigid as one could get.

“Nope. No fugitives here.” Tucker said brightly. Carolina sighed and continued her line of inquiry, though it was clear she wasn’t invested all too much in it. 

“Agent, I shouldn’t have to explain to you the consequences if you  _ are _ knowingly aiding and abetting Recovery One.” Tucker grinned at her. He was always at his best when defying authority, even authority that was reluctantly  _ being _ authority.

“There’s no Recovery One here, boss. But,” He reached out, snagged Wash’s wrist and yanked him into the holoframe. “We found Wash. Funny story involving me, two co eds and maybe a broken cryo chamber or three from the helio wreck.” Something in Carolina’s face stuttered, a small spasm, a small twitch. Something that would have turned into a full blown, smug, dance-puppets-dance, smirk. And that was enough for Maine to know.

_ Carolina had known who Recovery One was the entire time. _

“So you have.” She said completely in control, folding her hands on the desk in front of her. Wash didn’t fidget. Whatever conditioning he’d gone through, had ensured he was as still as stone. Eyes trained just above Carolina’s left shoulder. “It is  _ very _ good to see you again, Agent Washington. Welcome home.”

 

_ Director _ Carolina requests that Maine stay behind at the end of the call. He’s gratified that Washington seems unsure about leaving him alone, but he follows the others out, Tucker keeping a constant stream of chatter with Donut to distract him. Maine has no illusions that they won’t try to eavesdrop, and finds he’s completely okay with that.

“You’re wondering why I didn’t go after him sooner.” Carolina speaks first and Maine let his silence speak for him, as he often did. “You saw him, you  _ fought _ him and you’ve seen what I had to work with on my side.” Caroline’s face turned rueful. “When I say I didn’t have the resources, I mean it.”

Fair enough, Recovery One would have torn apart any of the red’s or blue’s she sent after him, if they even managed to find him at all. But still...

“We were under the impression that both Florida and Texas were at your disposal.” Sigma’s arms were resting behind his back, his flames dying down only a faint red haze around his outline, operations officer uniform fully visible. Carolina barked out a harsh laugh.

“I didn’t trust Florida as far as I could throw him, with good reason. And Tex…” She trailed off, her eyes looking at a point in the distance. “If I had sent Texas after Recovery One, he wouldn’t have made it back.”

What had that been like? Maine wondered abstractly. Trying to detract from his growing,  directionless, rage. To know the only surviving member of your team was a prisoner in his own body and didn’t even know it. Because he didn’t remember  _ anything _ , including you.

To have the last member of your team so close and yet so far at the same time.

“And then we came along.” Sigma prompted her.

“Yes,” Carolina agreed. “And then you came along. As young and healthy and skilled as back then. Not even a week had passed for you.” Her hands hadn’t unfolded, they clenched tighter, her weathered knuckles turning white. 

“You set us on a collision course with Recovery One.” Sigma, still pulling the pieces together, seeing what fit and what didn’t. Maine was preoccupied with wondering why Carolina hadn’t unfolded her hands from Washington’s re-introduction.

“Aside from CT, you were the closest to Agent Washington. If anyone could bring him home.” She stopped, closed her eyes and took a deep breath before reopening them, focusing her gaze on Maine. There was real weight in that stare. “You were my best and  _ only  _ chance.”

_ Oh _ , Maine realized, his anger draining away, Carolina hadn’t unfolded her hands because they were shaking.

 

It wasn’t long until they were called in front of an impromptu ‘hearing’ by the loosest definition of the word. Carried out by two mercs and several ‘officials’ who weren’t even fully paying attention. Maine sensed Carolina’s influence in the disinterested stare of the shadowed holoforms.

“Okay, so how do  _ you _ know that  _ Wash _ ,” Tucker waved a hand in Washington’s face without breaking eye contact with Locus. “Is Recovery One?” Locus’ eyes narrowed at Tucker’s blatant baiting.

“Agent Washington was declared MIA after failed implantation.” It sounded like Locus was reciting facts from the back of a cereal box. Credit where it was due, Maine had never seen a better group of actors then redblue squad when Grif blew out an explosive sigh. Like Locus and Felix were complete  _ idiots _ and wasting his time by making him explain the  _ obvious _ .

“Yeah, dude.” He said, in a bored tone. “Because it’s not like Freelancer agents have come back from MIA before.” Maine tried and succeeded in stopping himself from looking smug when both mercs glanced his way. “Anyway, Recovery One’s dead. Wash filed the report on him personally.” Which was actually true.

“Where’s the body?”

“Disposed of according to Freelancer protocols.” Washington sounded like a normal, reserved, agent relaying mission information. And not like a traumatized ex assassin trying to remember how to be human...ish.

“How fucking  _ convenient _ .” Felix snarled and only backed down a little when Wash’s thousand yard stare focused solely on him. He rallied admirably. “You cannot expect us to believe that the  _ minute _ Recovery One goes missing,  _ you _ idiots ‘find’ Agent Washington.” Felix dropped air quotes around the word. “How dumb do you think we are?”

“Well yeah I mean, when you put it like  _ that _ it sounds like a conspiracy,” Tucker agreed, nonchalantly. “But, you really think  _ we, _ ” He gestured to the ragtag group of redblue squad with his arm. “could take down Recovery One? And if we did, do you really think we’d  _ keep _ him? He  _ shot _ Donut and he  _ ruined  _ my tan lines!” Felix faltered, because Wash hadn’t so much as flinched when Tucker brought up Donut, he was steadily staring Felix down. Not even blinking, and slowly, ever so slowly, he brought his arms up to cross over his chest.

“Then where has  _ Agent Washington _ been this entire time! Fifty fucking years later.” Wash tilted his head casually, like he was actually considering the question. It was hard to tell these days, how much of Washington’s facial expressions meant he was  _ present _ for the conversation and not just tuning back in from wherever in his head he went. It seemed he was on the ball today at least. A good sign, Sigma murmured to Maine, Washington was having more good days then bad.

“Got stuck in the med labs’ cryo, went down when the helio crashed.” Wash reported, voice flat and tired sounding. Mostly because Tucker and Simmons had drilled this with him multiple times until it sounded natural instead of rehearsed. Maine could practically hear Felix’s teeth grinding. There was no way for the Mercs to disprove what Wash was saying without tipping their hand all the way out and admitting that their boss was the one who controlled Recovery One. And with Carolina and several other high ranking officials overseeing this ‘inquest’, that would be a very bad thing.

“Besides,” Donut pointed at the holo of Recovery One’s BOLO. “He doesn’t look anything  _ like _ Recovery One.” Which was  _ also _ true. The picture of Recovery One showed a man of indeterminate age, with dark brown shoulder length tangled hair, a heavy beard, and dark sunken shadowed eyes. Wash had short spiky dark blonde hair, no beard or moustache at all and while his eyes were grey and had a piercing stare, it wasn’t quite the same as the BOLO. “But you know who he  _ does  _ look like?” Donut pulled up the only remaining photo of Agent Washington on file. As luck would have it, from the medical form right before implantation, showing the same haircut, same facial features(thankfully Wash hadn’t gained any new scars.) and a worse dye job, but still blonde. “Agent Washington. I mean, give or take a failed experiment.”

“See?” Tucker gestured between the two pictures. “Completely different guy. Go bark up someone else’s tree.”

The real kicker for Maine, was Washington looking Felix right in the eye and saying with the blankest monotone: “My name is Agent Washington and my armor is  _ blue _ .” Like that was all the proof anyone needed.

In the end, they simply ran the clock out. Wash was far closer to his photos of Agent Washington then to his Recovery One shots, thanks to Donut’s skill with scissors and hair dye. His story, aside from the timing coincidence, checked all the right boxes and Hargrove couldn’t dispute it without ruining his own cover. Either by admitting to too much information or by trying to falsify records.

Maine wasn’t under any illusions.

They hadn’t really fooled the mercs or Hargrove. And there was no way to know what tricks could be used against Wash from his time as Recovery One.

But, as Maine watched the MIA status next to Washington’s tag get switched back to Active, he decided he’d take what he could get for today.

 

He really could not believe they got away with it though.


End file.
